Your Own Personal Wasteland
by Mistress Jack
Summary: The journey of Jack, Charon, and Dogmeat. I posted this story once and then felt the need to completely rewrite it. So here goes. PLEASE R&R. Feedback tells me where to go next with the story. Female LW/Charon. Deal with it.
1. A Simple Series of Moments

Boredom was really the biggest problem he faced in his whole career (which subsequently was also his whole _life_). Even the rock-and-a-fucked-place situation did not give him as much trouble. Hell, they were what he was trained; why he was goddamned ghoul in the first place. But, the boredom. It was a killer. It made him tired, made him feel stupid and slow. And, Jack felt comfortable with silence. She would walk beside him with a dreamy smile and it would be that way for miles and hours. He had invented little games to occupy himself. Spot the Bug, Kill Count, and Inventory Training to name a few. His favorite was Inventory Training as it took the most time. He would try and remember every scrap of crap they had, not only on them but in Megaton and a the few stash spots, organize it, get rid of anything useless, sell off the profitable bit and then try to perfect his travel bag. All in his head, of course. It could eat up hours if he took his time. But, today nothing would work. He was simply bored.

He sighed and spoke,

"Jack, may we rest a bit?"

She snapped from her revere and broken open a huge, warm smile for him.

"Sure! My dogs are barkin' anyway." She looked out toward the shallow bowl of rock and dust that they decided to skirt around earlier that morning. "See that real big car layin' against that rock face? Why don't we just stop for the rest of the day?" She looked back up at him. Her smile never faded. Almost never did.

He began toward the bus. It was only a few yards below the shelf they were walking over. He hoped down, it was hardly a drop for him, and lifted his hand toward Jack, who squatted at the edge. Her eyes seemed surprised and she said,

"Thank you, Charon!"

She grabbed his hand and jumped. He heard her knees pop when she hit and for a moment was sure it broke. But, she looked up at him and mouthed a comical _Ow!_ She gave a limp on the first step, the second. Her third barely gave and she was walking again, her whole body bouncing a little with step. He followed. They reached the pre-made shelter. She plopped her bag down in the shade and leaned against the rock and propped her hands b hind her head. She closed her eyes and began to hum quietly.

Charon gently wedged his pack under a shallow shelf. He turned toward the shallow bowl of land. He spotted a few ancient and black trees and snorted. He continued to scan the landscape and almost laughed. No more than a hundred yards south of them was a herd of four Brahmin. Brahmin chips would burn for hours. He grabbed his shotgun and began stalking slowly toward them. He went no more than five feet when,

"Hey, Charon, wait a sec, dude." He turned back to Jack. He watched her stand and brush her leathers off. She bent and he supposed she wanted to tag along. But, when she stood and walked out into the light it was with a rope, not the black assault rifle.

"What do you need?" he asked her.

"I've been thinking since we got back from Dave's Republic. What do you think of raising Brahmin? And maybe hiring Gob and Billy Creel to take care of 'em while we're out?"

Well, where the fuck did that come from, he thought.

"Why would you want to do that?"

"Well, people need water, sure, but they got to eat too. And, you know, Brahmin chips are a great fuel. We could use the little field down below Silvervale. You remember what I told you about castles?"

He did. But, he wanted to hear it again. He couldn't help it; he loved to hear her stories.

"Perhaps you could refresh me while we go figure out how to put four Brahmin on one rope."

She looked sidelong up at him and grew a toothy smirk.

"Watch." And she stopped. She pulled a baseball bat from her back and dropped it on the ground. She then began to string out the long rope. When she got about half way she grabbed it about dead center. While holding her right fist tight, she gripped the rope with her other hand and stretched both hands about three feet apart.

"Cut it right here at my left hand. Carefully." She smirked up through her dirty white blonde hair. He holstered his shotgun, grabbed his from its holster at his knee and swung his arm up like a striking snake. The rope snapped and fluttered to the ground, cut less than half an inch from her fist.

"Good one!" She laughed and for once, he smiled.

"Now, repeat." And they did on the other side of the middle.

"Now," she said as she dropped the remaining rope and grabbed one of the long ends. She then picked up the baseball bat. He suddenly noticed the five deep grooves carved evenly down the length of it. She pulled the very end of the rope out a good four feet and tied it tight around the back. When it was tight she stretched the rest of the rope to the next groove and wrapped it again. When she was finished, the two ends of the rope dangled from the bat.

"See? The center groove is for the lead rope and on the other side you wrapped the rope just this side here. And, bam, you have a four Brahmin leader thingy. And I have four . . . braces, bridles . . . something that goes around their face, like a mask and you hook the rope to a ring on it."

"Bridles." He nodded.

"Sweet! So I say we round us up some Brahmin, and I'll tell you about the castles while we hunt up some molerats. I think I can see some burrows up that side of the valley. See 'em?"

She cocked her head and pointed. He looked in the direction she indicated and covered his eyes with one gloved hand. He did see the burrows. They looked like the backs of mammoth brown worms, breaching the soil in a tangled mass. He stomach grumbled a bit and he looked back to his employer. She was looked back behind them, to the bus. He was shocked by her brilliant hair. It was cut like a Mohawk, only long to one side. It reminded him of the ancient horses and their long one, sided manes. She turned back to him and smiled.

"I'm gonna fix up this lead and tie it to the big car. Think you can herd those guys over toward me?"

"I can, but, I have to say I have certain reservations."

She looked at him and her eyes twinkled. She loved the way he talked. It was poetic, but so simple.

"What might that be?" she said, cocking one eyebrow.

"They could go wild."

"Good point. But, I have a solution. Remember that Dart Gun I built? I have a few Med-X shots in my pack. I think it would work out. Knock 'em on their ass a minute or two, slap the bridges on 'em, and when they wake up, they won't know shit from dirt." She winked at him.

"Bridles." He corrected her and fought down his own smile.

She narrowed an eye at him, smile never fading, and winked again. She then whorled around and walked toward the bus. He turned toward the Brahmin and finally let his own smile emerge. Bridling doped up Brahmin? Well, at least he wasn't bored anymore.

* * *

They had an unexpected surprise. One of the Brahmin was pregnant, _very _pregnant, and another had a tattered yellow bridle already strapped to him. They didn't even have to resort to the Dart Gun. The Brahmin had come easily, willingly, and never so much as snorted at Jack while she slid each bridle in place and tied them to the lead.

"They must have belonged to someone. They pretty well fed." Jack said.

She was strapping her gun (she called it the Perforator) to her back when the pregnant Brahmin gave a pained grunt. Jack looked at her and her brows broke into an almost sad expression. She gave the Brahmin a soft, friendly pat on her neck.

"We'll be there soon, ole girl, prolly tomorrow. Got a nice place for ya to call home."

Jack looked back at Charon.

"Shall we?" she gave a flourish and a bow.

He snorted and began to walk. She followed.

"So about theses castles . . ." she began. He let the words fill his head. The half an hour walk was over long before he was ready for it to be.

* * *

Hunting Molerats in their burrows was dangerous, but great fun. The Molerats dug a set of tunnels deep in the ground and then put a set of shallow tunnels not far from their burrow entrance. The "soldier" molerats sat in a deeper, more stable central chamber and waited. Anything that walked across those burrows fell in, breaking a few bones, and became dinner. As they approached the trap tunnels, they began to fling rocks at one of outside tunnel. Most of the rocks landed in about the same spot. After about five minutes and several impressive chunks Charon managed to roll on top of the tunnel, it collapsed and they fell immediately on the edge of the hole. They waited. Moments later, three molerats popped out of the collapsed dirt into the hole and began sniffing about. Charon and Jack aimed and the three molerats were dead in seconds. The moment they fell still, Charon dropped his shotgun and jumped into the hole. He grabbed one of the dead molerats and lugged it toward the edge. Jack grabbed its back legs and pulled it to the surface. He grabbed another.

"Hurry, Charon, more of those bastards is coming!" Jack said, her head appearing over the edge again.

"I hear them."

This was the fun part. Another body slid onto the Wasteland scrub grass. Charon could hear them too. The maddening scratching of at least five more was coming closer to the surface of the dirt. He picked up the last dead soldier and simply threw it up and over the edge. He grabbed the edge of the grass and pulled up and over. As his feet left the bottom of the head, he heard the scuffling shutter of a mole rat breaking into open air. Then, his knees slipped. Jack gave a cry and lunged for him, grabbing his chest armor. Her stomach and chest slammed into the ground and she gave a deep _Whoof_. She pulled, weakly at first. Then she finally got her knees under her and she gave him a good hard pull. He pushed with his arms. The combined effort sent him flying up and landing on top of Jack.

He was dazed until he looked at his squished employer below him. He rolled off quickly, embarrassed and jumped to his knees beside her.

"I hope I did not hurt you, Mistress."

He closed eyes popped open. Her smile returned, if a little pained.

"All good, dude. All good. Oh-!" she tried to sit up and her face turned red. "Damn, I take that back, you big bastard, I think you crushed my internal organs." She laughed.

He dropped his head and allowed a chuckle to shake his shoulders.

"Quit laughin', dude! I could be bleeding internally!" She said through a huge grin and chucked a clod of dirt at his head. He dodged it and stood. Now he was smiling hugely, showing his coffee brown teeth. He offered her hand.

"Shall we go, Jack, before the entire colony comes for us?"

She narrowed her eyes and grabbed his hand.

"Yeah, but you can drag those heavy bastards while I recover." She started off.

* * *

They made it back to their shelter. Jack had not made good on her threat, carrying the biggest of the molerats on her back.


	2. Irradiated Dreams

"Charon, you are, without a doubt. The best _fucking_ cook I have ever met. No lie. Hell, you're better than _me!_" she said. She threw the bone she had been chewing into the fire.

"Thank you." He said.

She lit a cigarette and offered it to him. He took it and she lit one for herself. The quiet sounds of crickets and the low grunts of the Brahmin lulled Charon. He closed his eyes and leaned against his pack. He wiped the grease from his lips. In truth, he knew the food wasn't fantastic, but it was hard to do something Jack didn't thank him for. He smoked and let his mind wander.

_Castles._

He wanted her to tell him more. The way she talked, it was like a rich tapestry spinning out before him.

"Will you tell me about the castles again, Jack?" he popped an eye open, hoping he wasn't disturbing her revere.

"Sure." She blew a smoke ring toward the fire and began in a dreamy voice. "Back in the old days, _thousands _of years before the Great War, people lived in small villages that surrounded huge building made of stone and surrounded by deep ditch full of water called a moat. Inside the castle, the king, the head guy, lived with his royal family, his servants, his advisors, and most of his militia. The castle's inner yard was a place for trading. It was littered with wooden stalls that sold bread, meat, fruits, clothes, and weapons, anything you could possibly want. There was sometimes a small garden and some livestock, as well, in case of a siege. The village around the castle was full of people that grew crops and raised more livestock. This is where they made the things that were sold in the castle yard. The soldier's families, the church, and the village doctor lived closest to the castle. The shops, inns, and homes were in the outer ring and at the edge were the barns, fields, and pastures. And when the people's enemies showed up, everyone filed into the castle where they were protected.

Megaton . . . it's just perfect. It's the castle. We fill it with people, fill it _up._ Then, we start building around it. Grow up a good herd of Brahmins, maybe even fence in some Mirelurks around a big pond. Then, we start planting the plants we find. Like those prairie carrots and the little . . . potatoes? Is that what you called them? Potatoes? Yeah. And wild corn. In 20 years, Charon, just 20 years, megaton could be the biggest, most prosperous town in the Wastes. Fuck, the _world_."

Charon didn't know when he fell asleep, but he knew when he woke up later that night, Jack had placed a blanket over him and sat on top of the bus humming gently.

"I'll take watch now." He croaked and stretched. She jumped the ground and stretched as well.

"Thank god, Lazybones, my butt was going numb." She gave him a good natured pat on the arm and flopped to her bedroll. She was snoring softly before he made it to the top of the bus.

* * *

The dream never started the same. If it did, she felt, she could stop it, or do something. But, it never did. It would start in Agatha's cabin with the sound of her lilting violin, or a roll in the hay with Amata, or even her tenth birthday.

Tonight, it had started with her father standing on the one side of the irradiated Potomac and her on the other. He was speaking, shouting something important that she could not hear. Charon had finally found his way into her dreams tonight and he stood beside her with Dogmeat barking alongside him. Charon was pointing behind her, but the things her father was shouting were more important to her. She tried to tell Charon, but it was if she had been born without the gift of speech. She waved him off and turned toward her father across the rapidly widening river.

Then, as with every one of these dreams, she felt more than heard the explosion behind her. It was the murderous dark thing. Some faceless formless dark shape had exploded from the deadly world of blackness she had always suspected had hidden behind her field of vision. It was heartstoppingly fast and it was aimed directly at, not her heart as she thought, but her father.

Now he was writhing, burning, in the invisible flames of radiation.

"Run. Run!" he croaked from behind the rotunda glass. And in the chamber were not Enclave soldiers, but Agatha and Amata, Flak, Shrapnel, Everett, Gob and Nova, and even the loyal Dogmeat. They were all dying, burning, until they were overcome and their faces were bubbling with blood and gore. Her father's eyes grew and grew and popped bloodily on the glass, but he did not die.

"Run. Run!"

She woke up gasping and choking. For a moment she was sure she was below the whole of the dark Potomac and her lungs could not expand. But, a small dusty breeze opened her burning chest. She gasped and tears oozed from her eyes from exhaustion and effort.

* * *

She was having a bad dream again. He could hear her whimpering. He slid down the top of the bus and jumped to the ground. When he landed, she was gasping, wide eyed. Tears were streaming from her eyes and she shook. It was an awful shake, too. He stepped toward her.

"Mistress? Are you well?"

She jerked her head toward his voice and gulped in a huge breath. But, she did not answer. She sat and hiccupped with small sobs. Then, she dropped her head into her hands and curled into a ball on the ground.

"Fine . . ." she finally whispered. "Go watch . . ."

For a moment, he felt the urge, the _need_, to place a hand on her shivering shoulder, stroke her hair, touch her wet face, k-

He gave an instant about face and crawled back to the top of the bus. He began to mentally recite the lines of his contract. For awhile, he heard her whimper quietly. Then, she was silent. But, he could still hear it in his mind.

* * *

_She stepped into the Ninth Circle by direction of the amiable Snowflake. By now she had a raging Jet habit and was nursing two other infant addictions with Psycho and cheap whiskey._

_Why she wanted to speak to him, she had no idea. The only thought that her strung out mind would volunteer was that he had not looked at her the same as the other residents of Underworld. It was not a look of distrust, fear, and perhaps even a little jealousy. It was a simple look of appraisal. As if he were only assessing her threat level, before his eyes fell back to the strong-jawed ghoul behind the bar and the old safe. _

_ So, her hands in her pockets to keep them from shaking, she walked over to him. His face did not change, but she felt his full focus hit her. She began to ask him if he had a moment to talk, but he barked,_

_ "Talk to Azruhkal."_

_ "Okay, sorry." she mumbled as she steered away._

_ She sat at the bar and Azruhkal greeted her and handed her drink._

_ Before she could even begin to thank him for the kindness, he smiled wickedly and said, _

_ "Five caps, please." he oozed fake niceties._

_ She distrusted and hated the ghoul almost as soon as she began the conversation. She asked about "the big guy in the corner" and was appalled with the nonchalant way he explained to her who Charon was and what he did. Azruhkal's line of bull about slavery being an abomination did not fool her in the least. She would have loved to leave, but something about what Azruhkal was telling her, something about the angry way he had mentioned Carol's Place, made her stay. She could hear things in people's voice sometimes and what she heard was greed. It was painfully obvious to her that he wanted caps. Lots of them. _

_ Azruhkal did not see it, and Jack never noticed it, but Charon could see from across the room the glinting spark in Jack's eyes. He quickly learned in her employ that was the spark of the evil cold hearted actress she could become in any situation that would benefit. _

_ "So how much for your boy over there?"_

_ Azruhkal lifted a ruined eyebrow. She saw him reevaluate her immediately. He suddenly saw the heartless kindred soul in her that she wanted him to see. _

_ "I have been losing a lot of business to Carol . . ." he began. _

_ Charon could not hear the conversation, but his guts were churning, knowing that Azruhkal was offering up his contract for the discrete death of Greta. He himself had convinced Azruhkal that it would ruin business if Charon were to kill Greta, even on the pretense that she was going feral. _

_ Jack walked out, looking a shade paler than she had come in. Azruhkal shut down the bar and handed Charon a cold plate and a warm cup. _

_ "Perhaps you will not have to work for me much longer, Charon. I know that will please you to no end. Stay here tonight and watch my safe. If she comes looking for my caps, blow her head off." He walked away chuckling sickly._

_ Charon stared at his plate of dried iguana bits and decided the whiskey was sufficient for his appetite tonight. He could feel an emotion rolling around his stomach. Regret and pain for Greta. She was dry and about as warm as her own rotting flesh, but she was a good cook, loved Carol as much if not more than every other ghoul in Underworld, and really did care for her cursed brethren. While he collected his silent grief for the ghouless and buried it in a deep dead place, he contemplated what was surely to become his new employer. _

_ At about four in the morning, he got up from his table in the corner and peeked out the main door, waiting and watching to see if Greta would start her five thirty shift as she did every morning, smoking on the stairs while Underworld slept. She did not. Charon sat at his table and waited for Azruhkal and the wanderer to come._

* * *

Charon's eyes creaked open and for a moment, he was confused. This was not the Ninth Circle. Then, he heard Jack whistling and giggling. It rushed back. He sat up and was surprised to find the fire crackling merrily, boiling a few Mirelurk eggs in the hanging pot. He looked toward the direction of Jack's laughter.

She was rolling around in the grass with a giant fuzzball. Dogmeat must have found them last night. They weren't that far from Megaton after all.

He sat back to wait on breakfast and began to read _Tumblers Today_, Jack's favorite magazine.


	3. It All Started One Day

**Day 571, The Mall**

She crawled up the steps of the Metro, slowly, quietly. Her misery was complete with every movement. She struggled not to scream out in pain and still yet, she had to use every fiber in her to listen for the sound of monstrous feet. Though she felt as if the world had thrown a mini-nuke on top of her, she spared herself no pity. She mumbled under her breath as she dragged herself painfully, step by step.

"You just had to peek and poke. Curiosity killed the cat, Jack. Smushed it flat on the fucking road! You knew better than that. If Dad saw you right-" she stopped completely. In her mind, she began that same droning, screaming thought as before.

NO STOP REDIRECT NO STOP NO MORE STOP

And once again she saw herself as a child, fingers in her ears, screaming,

"I can't hear you! La la la la! Can't hear a thing!!" to no one but the walls.

She quickly picked up a thin thread of thought, something about ammunition and bandages, and continued on.

Finally, her head peeped over the top of the last step. While she could hear the occasional gunfire and even a few distant explosives, she saw nothing. She pulled, grunting, and began dragging herself to the building behind the Metro. She would have liked to marvel at the massive structure's impressiveness, even injured as she was, but at almost the same moment she thought herself home free, she heard rapid footsteps headed her way.

Fear seized her chest hard. She grabbed the Kneecapper from its holster and tried to climb to her knees. Pain ripped through her hip and flamed up her back and down her legs. She saw the world swim and go black for a moment, and then she was crawling with one hand and one leg, pointing her sawed-off in the general direction of the quickening footsteps. A voice rang out.

"Hey! Stop. I might not shoot you if you'll wait a damned minute."

In an instant, Jack knew two things. The first was that the voice belonged to a female ghoul and the second was that at that very moment her body decided it had lost too much blood and was too battered to go a millimeter further and would be shutting down now, with or without her consent. She looked back and saw the ghouless turning the corner of the guardrail.

"Well, look what the Muties dragged in. Another injured tourist."

Her tone was mocking, but the ghouless quickened her pace quite a bit when she noticed the long trail of blood behind Jack.

"I'm not a tourist . . ."

Willow's response was lost in the rushing wave of Jack's unconsciousness.

**Day 575, The Chop Shop**

Doctor Barrow's eyes were sweaty and his back was aching. He had been bent over the microscope in his corner of the Chop Shop for nearly an hour. He watched the tiny cells separating, eating, dying. His mind felt like a dog sick from chasing its tail. He stood and arched his back. His bones cracked, as did some of his skin, and groaned. He grabbed a clipboard and read the chart. Nurse Graves looked up from her miscellaneous paperwork and called to him,

"Are you waking her up soon, Doc?"

"I'm already awake." A voice from behind the filthy hospital curtain croaked out.

Barrows smiled and step behind the curtain.

The girl lay on her back, eyes still closed. To his surprise, she was dressed in the leather armor she had come in wearing. The bandages bulged slightly in various places. He had bandaged her right eye at first as will, not knowing behind all the blood that it was an old wound. She sat up and looked at him, obviously a bit pained.

"How ya feeling?" he asked.

"Dry."

He stepped back out to go for a bottle of good water and nearly crashed into Nurse Graves. She smiled in surprise and handed him two bottles marked "H2O".

"Thank you, Nurse."

She nodded and returned to her desk. The doctor returned and handed the girl one bottle.

"How about now?" he questioned when she finished the first bottle and half of the second one.

"Better."

"Do you remember anything?"

"Enough?"

"The sentry? Her name is Willow. Any trouble remembering your name or anything like that."

"Uhh," she hesitated. She furrowed her brow and shook her head, "Willow, yeah. My name is Jack. My dog's name is Dogmeat. I had a sawed-off and a black assault rifle with a scope on it. And a silencer."

The last part seemed to be a bit more direct to the doctor. Not hostile, but not at all confused or hesitant.

"Yes, don't worry. Your guns have been locked in Carol's safe."

**Night 575, Underworld**

"You're good to go, more or less. Try not to rip out the stitches for a few days at least. And make sure to keep those bandages fresh and clean. Did Nurse Graves show you how to re-bandage?" Doc Barrows asked in his articulate voice, flashing the light in one eye and then the other.

He stood, hand on his lower back.

"Yes." she answered softly, pulling the straps of her eye patch down over her hair once again.

"That eye is better healed than anything else. You don't need to wear that patch, you know." his ruined eyebrow lifted.

"I know." her soft response.

His mouth widened into a smile.

"Do you ever shut the hell up? I can't get a word in edgewise with you." he smiled at her.

The tiniest smile answered his.

"No."

* * *

She slipped out the door of the Chop Shop and was immediately confronted with the whirling, clanking Cerberus.

"Scanning!" his authoritative voice rang out. A few ghouls resting on the benches close to her, turned to stare. Cerberus flew on, leaving her to be speculated over by the residents of underworld. She lowered her head, eye patch toward the long wall of the staircase, and walked as quickly toward the doors as she could. A ghouless in a dress more ruined than her once pretty features, moved from her path. Jack lowered her head further and passed, muttering,

"Excuse me, ma'am."

"That's humans for you. Always so goddamn friendly."

Jack felt her face grow hot and her stomach lurch. More ghouls seemed to be staring at her now. She quickened her pace. Her heart thudded painfully. Had it not been for the hundreds of eyes on her, she would have broken out into a run. She held her breath. Now she was a few feet from the door. A shout rang out.

"Hey, wait up!"

In the confusion and heat in her head, the voice did not attach itself to any face in she knew. It only seemed malicious, only wanted to highlight her more. Her hand hit the door with a loud thud. She could feel the heads turn in her direction. With all her will, she pulled open the door as casually as her adrenaline soaked, shaking hands would allow. She slipped out and heard the heavy door slam. her breath rushed from her lungs and she could feel the blood leave her face.

Give me a gang of angry Mole Rats over city life anyway, she thought miserably.

She sat down on the far end of the steps. Her things clattered to the floor. A huge sigh welled up inside of her and rushed out with a great heaviness in her chest. She slowly stood again, shaking. She bent to gather her belongings.

"Hey, kid! You ran off. I wanted to talk to you."

The voice shocked her and she jumped. She whirled around.

"Snowflake . . ." her breath once again rushed from her lungs with a great sigh.

"Yeah, kid, who'd you think it was? Anyway, I heard Doc was let you leave. Thought I might come by and see ya, again. You rushin' off?" Snowflake's eyes looked big and kind of sad. Jack felt a little sad. Snowflake was, as far as she could tell, the only good friend she had this side of the Potomac. she turned to him and offered up a rare smile.

"No, just looking for a little peace." her smile faded. "Got any?"

Snowflake's smile would have sent shivers down the spine of even a brave man. Jack sat on the step and felt her neck soften. Snowflake jammed his hand in his pocket and fished out two full hits of jet.

"A little peace," he held out one, "and quiet." he held up the other.

* * *

After Snowflake had left, she holed up in the only place she could afford a little true privacy. The circle shaped front desk of the Museum lobby. Between the harsh contrasts of dead silence and pure hell of battle out in the Mall, and the relatively perpetual buzz of Underworld, it felt to her like her own personal Wasteland to hide in.

Laid out in front of her was an intricate display of all her belongings she carried. She had repaired and cleaned every item in her inventory. Now her eye rolled her things.

It stopped on a rusty .32 with no firing pin. It sat way off balance. It could be repaired to perfect condition. With lots of time and energy. She lifted to her eye and stared intently for a moment at the gun. She then flung it over her shoulder. The bang it made as it hit the floor sounded as if the firing pin had never been lost.

Next, she spotted a knife with a very loose blade. After a moment of inspection, it too flew away, skittering across the dusty marble floor. Next she picked up a pair of nearly sole less boots. They too, went flying clumsily thought the air, landing short. One now hung lazily from an ancient cash register. She then picked up a pair of sunglasses with only one arm. She looked over them and then placed them safely back in their row. They still had all the screws and two good lenses.

Next came two black gloves. They returned to their row, unharmed. Next came a busted pencil. It arced high, flipping through the air, end over end. It was stopped, mid-air, by something big that Jack never noticed. She heard the pencil clatter to the floor only on the very edge of her busy mind, never noticing how close it fell to her sanctuary. Next came an old t-shirt. It fluttered away silently. Next came a blue baseball cap. It spun away unceremoniously. Next a toy car. Then a few scraps of armor, followed by a green handled knife. Useless scrap and things in too much disrepair flew out of the desk. It resembled some strange Roman candle.

When she was finally satisfied that she carried nothing more than what was valuable or absolutely necessary, she repacked it all. Then, in her smaller bag, she searched in some secret pocket. Out came the large folded map, her cartography tools, and a few hits of Jet. She inhaled the jet deeply and studied a small notebook that was now drenched in her old, dry blood. She had been attacked while taking down a few locations from Three Dog's reports. all seemed uninspiring.

All but one, she thought.

She reread the latitude and longitude. She traced her lines, measured, re-measured, and measured again. Finally, with a triumphant grunt, she touched the empty area of the map with a tiny marker dot.

That's where I'm going. Evergreen Mills.

Another hit of Jet. A calm rolled over her. A tranquil nothingness washed over her mind. Peace. She lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. She had found a scrap, a tiny bit of morsel. Peace. Her eye closed. She smoked and sighed and, for a rare moment she smiled. Her eye slid lazily open. She flicked her long cigarette ash.

A ramrod of fear and adrenaline shot up her spine. In the nanosecond it had taken to flip her cigarette, the same moment the tiny spark reflected in some surface on the thing in the lobby, her mind ripped its huge form from the darkness behind it. She leapt to her feet. She leveled her Infiltrator on the thing in the darkness and took four long, rapid steps forward, gasping,

"Come on, motherfucker. Come on!" her fifth step faltered.

The light of her PipBoy washed over the thing and it stood. It rose and grew and the muzzle of her gun fell to the floor.

The first thing her panicked mind noted was that the biggest, scariest looking Ghoul she had ever seen stood towering more than a foot over her. The next was that a shotgun, as uniquely huge and intimidating as its owner, was pointed no more than a few inches from her nose. Tied to the muzzle, dangled a tiny gold cross, sparking in the light of her PipBoy. The ghoul wore black leather and the mottled look of his dark muscles showing through the rotting, dark skin looked every bit the monstrous guardian of the gates of Hell. But, it was the cold, calculating look in his eyes, emotionless and more than ready. The look of a predator. It paralyzed her. And when she heard the sound of the safety level clicking from one position to the other, her heart stopped.

**Night 575, Lower Halls of Underworld**

Charon never entered the Museum from the front. Since he had fallen into the employ of Azruhkal, he had used a nearly buried, little known entrance from the side. It discouraged the Steels from following. Or that was the reason he gave the other ghouls. Truth be told, he enjoyed the solitude he could find in the Lower Halls. Only the Ferals roamed here, and when they saw Charon coming, they fell away to the shadows, hissing and scuttling. Except for one storage room near the back, the room he never opened unless ordered to, these halls were his own personal wasteland. He read, most often, the few unruined books he had found over the years, cleaned and repaired his gear, or simply ate in the empty cafeteria. When he felt he had spent enough time in his sanctuary, he would leave through the lobby door, perhaps stopping to hear the last report from Willow.

Today, he entered and was immediately uneasy. But, he had made it a good ten feet from the service door before he noted the change that made his senses strain. He hadn't heard a single hiss, no scuttling of feet. By the time he finally missed the presence of the Ferals, he nearly tripped over three of their corpses.

"Damn!"

His first thought was Steels. But the lack of flash, flare, destruction, and patriotic speeches cast too much doubt. The second thought was that perhaps, finally, his prediction had come true. Either ghoul haters that were organized and crazy enough had raided Underworld, or someone with enough money had hired someone else crazy and organized enough to take on the job. Talons. His shotgun never lowered; his eyes and ears pained for the slightest sensation.

He stalked every hall, checked every nook and cranny. All he found were more feral corpses and spent 5.56 casings. The furrows in his ruined brow deepened. His face was darker than usual with a wicked sneer. He mounted the steps to the lobby door and crouched. he slid the door open without even disturbing the dust on the floor. He crawled out, shotgun still at the ready.

From the corner of his eye, he caught a bit of greenish white light. He turned and saw the glow coming from inside the circle desk of the front lobby. Three feet to the right of him was a split in the desk, a gate with the hinged counter that swung up to allow the ushers of old to enter and exit. A pale carpet of light fell from it. He began to sneak in that direction.

Without warning, a shot rang out against the silence. He jumped to his feet and trained his shotgun on the desk, waiting for the slightest hair or movement to give away the position of his assailants. He waited. Suddenly, a knife flew, skittering across the dusty marble floor. But the direction and power were weak and much too far to his right. He continued to wait, though his mind was fogging with confusion. When a pair of old, black boots flapped lazily up and onto the desk, his shotgun finally came down. The absolute absurdity was almost comical. He watched the boot dangling from an ancient cash register. Now his confusion was complete. What the fuck was goin' on here?

A pencil flipped through the air and hit him square in the chest, clattering to the floor. He crouched down again, instinctively. He began to sneak again toward the trail of light. As he came upon it, he watched an old t-shirt, a baseball cap, a toy car, and other bits of junk go flying in different directions. Now he was insatiably curious. He finally squared himself up to the light.

Inside, sitting cross-legged was a young, blonde haired girl, picking over items that were set up in almost military fashion. He noticed first the patch over her right eye and the thin, lightning scars that radiated from it. he was then struck by how long her pale hair was and how, despite a few fresh scars, her skin seemed unmarked, clear as milk. His eyes fell upon the source of the pale greenish white light. A wrist computer.

What were they called? PipBoys? Yes. That was it.

She must be from a vault. Charon had had the sneaking suspicion that one of those bastards time locked seal would crack open one of these days. Suddenly, he realized that she could be the Vault Dweller he had heard of on the radio lately. Doubt clouded his thoughts. The Vault Dweller was a woman, but this girl. She looked no older than 20, and her face seemed to beautiful to be that of the bad-ass Ambassador of Peace Three-Dog howled about.

She packed her things and searched in the side of her smaller bag. Out came a largish piece of old folded paper and several pencils, rulers and a nearly pristine compass. Next came three small red inhalers.

Junkie. Charon thought.

He watched her inhale the first hit of Jet and felt a tiny sadness grow in his heart. She was too pretty, too untouched by time and radiation, too much of a child to be destroying herself with those nasty chems. He watched her trace along the lines of the map, almost lovingly. She measured something and pulled a notebook with a ugly brown stain seeping through the layers of paper.

Blood.

She read and reread the page. He saw her fall upon some scrap of writing and watched her untouched eye narrow. She returned the paper in front of her. He realized it was a map. A huge map. Only a small section near the middle had anything on it. He studied the detail as best he could from his position. He watched her measure, re-measure, and measure again. She grunted and tapped a tiny dot on the map. Seemingly satisfied she repacked her map and tools.

She took another hit of Jet. The sadness in his heart bloomed a little. She lit a cigarette and closed her eyes. A tiny smile, sweet and frail, touched her lips. Her striking beauty as the smile lit her face was almost completely disarming. He felt the urge to stand, to hail her and ask her name. he watched her eye slide open and noted the pale green of it. She was gorgeous. She flipped an ash away.

At that very moment, he knew she had spotted him. He watched her leap up and train an assault rifle with a scope and a long, deadly looking silencer right between his eyes. She lurched toward him.

"Come on, motherfucker. Come on!" he heard her gasp.

He stood, mechanically, aiming his own shotgun at her in return. His mind cleared and battle ready blood froze in his veins. He saw himself clear in her vision. Her gun dropped. He clicked the safety lever away and aimed.

They stared at each other, one gasping, one nearly growling.

Charon's voice was too loud in the suffocating silence.

"Who are you and what are you doing here?"

He watched her eye widen and her mouth move. No sound came out.

"What?" he barked.

"Jack! My name is Jack, and I'm staying with Doctor Barrows in Underworld. Please . . . please don't h . . ." he breath failed.

Charon lowered his shotgun and straightened. Her eye grew impossibly wider as he towered above her. Then, without provocation, her eye narrowed and her ears pulled back like a vicious dog. Her rifle was up and in his massive chest.

He was stunned by her speed. But more stunning was the cold, killer look in her single eye.

"I . . . I don't want to hurt you! I . . . what . . . Who are you and what are you doing here?"

"I am Charon. I live in Underworld."

After several exaggerated seconds, she lowered her rifle. While her face softened and the suspicion fell from her, fear still blanched her skin.

Charon felt another urge to reach out to her. To comfort her. But, his well trained mind reminded him that Azruhkal wanted his caps. Duty killed his emotions rampage. He made toward the door of the concourse.

Behind him he heard Jack sigh in great relief. A beat later he heard her call his name.

"Charon? I'm sorry for any misunderstanding. I perhaps if I see you again, I'll buy you a drink."

Charon turned to look at her. In the darkness that surrounded her, he could suddenly see less of the pretty child he had seen and more of a ghost. He suddenly wished some other ghoul would walk into the lobby, if only to confirm that his eyes needed checking.

"No. I do not drink while I am working."

"Well, when you get off then. When is that?" now the conversation felt casual. As if a moment ago they had not almost killed each other.

Charon shook his head.

"Never."

"What a bitch! What kind of boss won't let you have a day off?"

Azruhkal, Charon thought. Now he realized the absurdity of the lightness of the conversation. He cocked an eyebrow.

"Well, maybe I'll see you around anyway."

For a moment, he did not have a reply. Finally, he simply nodded and walked away. He thought about the two empty Jet containers laying inside the circle lobby desk.

Yeah, kid, see ya around. Real soon.


	4. Let There Be Light

They were close now. He could see the hazy of the rising morning fires of Megaton over the ridge. If he was not mistaken, they would see Megaton from the top of it. He looked back to Jack, who had lead the Brahmin most of the way. He knew when he looked at her face that she knew they were close as well. She was not smiling. He stopped.

She reached his side and handed him the lead rope without a word. She turned to the Brahmin and waved her arms.

"Ho. Ho, girl! Ho."

The Brahmin stopped.

She turned back toward the hazy cloud of rising smoke. Her eyes narrowed. Without taking her eyes from the sky, she put a hand deep into her pocket and pulled out her eye patch. When it was in position, she looked at Charon.

"We're gonna take the Brahmin to the gate. I'm sure we can convince Simms to let them in for enough caps. I'll ask Leo to take care of them for the night. So we can rest. Tomorrow, I need to come out here and find a good place to set up a barn and pasture for these guys. We aren't leaving until I get it done. When we finally get settled in, would you mind taking that bag of stuff to Moira?"

"As you wish."

She nodded tightly and slipped the rope from his hand. Brahmin in tow, she made her way to the top of the ridge. He face was tight and she looked not in front of her, but a few feet in front of her feet.

Now, Charon filed in behind her, just to her left.

His employer was different than any of her predecessors. As they trudged toward Megaton, he speculated on her odd yet consistent behavior. In the Wastes, where there was nothing but land, space, and threat, she was jovial. She bounced and smiled and laughed. She ended the nights around the fire with stories of what she had seen or things her father had taught her. And she didn't wear the eye patch. But, when even the possibility of people arouse, the patch was slapped on, the smile disappeared, and it was as if she melted into the background.

She even acted differently toward him. In the Wastelands, even he would occasionally forget, if only for a moment, she was his employer. When they traveled he was simply her companion. She never asked him to do anything outside the occasional request for help. They talked, laughed, and joked with one another. An order was something the empty skies never heard her give. But, when they were "in town", as she said, she was absolutely no nonsense. In town he became her employee once more. She would give him short orders, never looking to his eyes for an opinion. In truth, he knew it was not out of cruelty or ego, but _business. _ In town, she was all business.

They crested the ridge and for an almost imperceptible moment, she stopped and looked at Megaton. To Charon, the way her single eye was looking at the huge metal wall was the same look it gave an enemy at a long distance.

* * *

He tied the Brahmin to the post of the brass lantern. Jack was with Lucas Simms, standing at the gate, heads bowed in conversation. His eyes looked directly at the careful knots he tied in the post but, he watched every movement of his lips, every twitch of her eye. Megaton sang quietly with mid morning activity. The sun had not yet breached the rim of the metal was and the shaded city was still a little chilly. The smell of food, ashes, and cold, gritty dust permeated even the colors it seemed. All was the color of ash and cold bacon. In a way, it was the most beautiful morning he had ever seen in Megaton.

_Beautiful isn't quite it. _Primordial._ That's it, _he thought_. _

Jack was nodding now, a sure sign conditions were being reviewed. Charon was unsure why she felt the need to ask Simms pardon to raise cattle in Silvervale. After all, it was her and Charon cleared out the old school. It was now their primary stash spot.

But, he supposed, in a way he understood it. It was business.

As ludicrous as it was, Jack's talk of castles was not all talk. She had moved in at least thirteen new residents. It had been a hard sell, but after she spent a few weeks locked in her bedroom with at least 25 copies of old Dean's Electronics magazines and a poorly drawn schematic old Walter had scratched on a greasy piece of paper, she rebuilt the whole purifier. Charon remembered the 16 hour job of nothing but lowering tools, food, scrap metal, and cigarettes to her in a bucket. In between loads, he repaired the circuit board. It was one hell of a mess. And then to top it all off, she built the homes. They were really nothing more than one light bulb rooms with a stove, toilet, bed, and tub, but they were warm at night and cool through the day thanks to the windows Charon himself had cut and fitted with greased molerat skin.

"_Fill it up will with people . . . Grow." _ He heard her voice whisper in some memory.

The Brahmin were secure and Charon stood. Jenny Stahl was leaned against wall behind the bar. Charon sat on the barstool in front of his employer's new herd. Well, it was more like squatting for the big ghoul but, he was glad the pressure was of his soles. Jenny bounced from the wall and walked toward him. She crossed her arms and spoke.

"What'd ya need, Charon?"

"A beer, a Brahmin burger, and a cigarette if you have one."

"Too early for the burgers, they ain't cooked, but we have hot Iguana Bits and Squirrel Stew. Here's a cigarette. Guess I couldn't really charge you for it. 'Less you wanna buy a pack."

"I'll take the pack."

"Five caps. Ah, hell, just two. Since we don't have any burgers."

Charon picked out 20 caps from his pouch. They shuffled into a quiet pile beneath his palm on the counter.

"Here, I can wait while you fire up the grill. I may be here awhile."

Jenny looked at the caps, not really counting them (she was calculating but Charon's caps were as good as anyone's. Hell, better than some. It brought no trouble.) She more weight them with her eyes and turned the corners of her mouth down and nodded. It was plenty. Pulling out the grill early would just give her something to do. Plus, Charon was a good shot in times of trouble and he lived in her town. Good reason to keep him sharp and happy.

* * *

"It will give them a job as well. They build the barn; I feed 'em, give 'em a few caps. When it's done, I hope to have enough head to keep a few of them busy."

"And the rest?" Simms asked.

"They can build. Billy Creel is actually a wizard with a hammer and nail. We build a few more houses in here, there's room. And even then, we have a few extra bodies. And them. We train them to shoot. Charon can do it himself. Who better? We can build a few more sniper points. Lucas, we can grow."

"Raiders'll look for that kind of thing."

"They _don't _look for me." She said calmly.

He believed.

"You are the sheriff of this town. You need more deputies. I got you that. You need more weapons. I have brought a steady stream of guns and ammunition in here for the last three months. We are armed to the teeth. You need more water, more food, more caps. I located another pump in D.C. I can build an entire new pump for this town." Simms raised his eyebrows. He was stunned though it was only mildly translated in his face. Jack read it there. "That's right. Water in excess. And the Brahmin herd. Don't forget that. Jobs _and _food. And when you have plenty of food, plenty of water, and plenty of _people_, the caps will flow. What do you think, Lucas?"

Lucas Simms watched the Atom priest ranted in front of the now dead bomb. A few of the new settlers were heading to Moriarty's, now under new management. He saw the ghoul drinking a beer at the Brass Lantern. The sounds of a few hammers were now beating, echoing against the east wall. He looked up to Moira's balcony and saw her pointing toward her top floor. Two mercenaries were hauling boxes full of parts and scrap. Their faces reflected the daunting task. The balcony had only one small path. The rest was stacks of boxes, generator parts wrapped in old tarps, motors, guns, ammunition boxes, and a forest of new shelves. In the brightening grey of the morning, the town looked suddenly changed to him.

_It's industrious. It's alive, _he thought.

"I think I have less choice than you let on. So what do you need me for?" he crossed his arms.

"I can't be the sheriff and mayor, Lucas. I'm too busy. I can't really be here like you can. Really, I can't do it _without_ you." Her eyes twinkled.

Lucas was silent a few moments. His face did not change, nor did his posture. Only his eyes roamed. They covered every inch of Megaton. Finally, he sighed and looked at Jack.

"I'll need at least three new boys, if not four. They gotta know how to shoot and do what they're told."

"I think I can handle that, Lucas." Jack gave a small smile and stuck out her hand. They shook.

* * *

The moment she, the dog, and Charon were through the door, she threw it closed and slammed the bolt home. She leaned back against the door and gave hugely exaggerated sigh. She wiped a hand across her forehead.

"Home again, home again, jiggety jig."

Charon dropped his pack and sat down in the big white chair Jack bought specifically for him. She dropped her pack and joined him in her on her smaller grey loveseat. Dogmeat jumped into the newest chair, a winged red lounger. They sat and gave an almost unanimous sigh.

"Wadsworth?" Jack gave a soft shout to the second floor.

There was a clank, a whirr, a sputter, and Wadsworth was buzzing down the steps.

"How can I help you, madam?"

"We could all use a cold drink of good water and a joke if you're up to it." Jacked smiled from beneath her arm which draped across her eyes.

"Certainly, madam. What is the difference between a Raider and a Feral Ghouls?"

"What?" she squeaked gleefully.

"Ferals have decidedly better table manners."

Jack burst into gales of laughter. And it was real laughter. Charon raised a ruined eyebrow in her direction and shook his head.

"Thank you, Wadsworth. Fantastic joke."

As Wadsworth whirled toward the kitchen for the beers and Dogmeat's bowl, (was that whirr a bit more _smug_ than normal?) Charon turned to Jack. She locked eyes with him and her grin grew to an almost painful size.

"Simms is on board. I told him I'd give him four deputies. You and I are going to train them. It won't take a week or two to teach them to shot half straight. Lucas will make them keep training. And now, Charon, I can _build._ Think of it . . . I really started something. It's really . . . gonna grow."

Now she sounded awed. Lost and awed in the glory of a dream. Her face was lit from the very bottom of her spirit, her smile was soft, and her eyes seemed full of stars. He watched her drift through her dream until Wadsworth returned with two cold beers and a fizzing bowl for Dogmeat. They drank in companionable silence, each nursing their own visions of castles.


	5. And Then The Night Came

The sun hadn't yet reached the top of the Megaton walls when he heard the banging on the door. At first, he was sure there was a push at the gate. Raiders or Ants. Maybe Slavers. He was in his pants before his raw feet hit the cold steel floor and, forgoing his shirt and leathers, he grabbed his shotgun and sniper rifle. He threw them over his shoulder and grabbed an ammunition box. He bounded down the stairs. It would Jericho, not Simms. Simms would be at the top of the gate, blasting away with his rifle. Charon grabbed the door and nearly tripped right out the door. It was not Jericho, it was not even Simms. It was a Steel. A motherfucking Steel blasting away at the door like the devil was behind him. Charon looked quickly out the door, searching for signs of panic or sounds of shooting. Nothing. The morning hummed with people and construction, but no shots. No threat. He saw the girl, Lucy he thought, walking down the ramp toward their door. She looked at the Steel and could not hide the popping interest in her eyes. She hurried past, perhaps off to the Lantern. Gossip was as precious as caps in town.

He turned back to the Steel, who looked young and as shocked as Charon had first been. The ghoul let his face harden and spoke in the well trained voice of the bar bouncer.

"Help you?"

"I am, uh, I am Initiate Grouper. I need to see, uh, Jack. I need to speak with hi-her."

Nervous. He must be young. Early twenties, most likely. After a moment of silence that Charon hoped would put the kid a little more on edge, he spoke,

"You'll have to wait." And he closed the door in the kid's face. He could wait on the step. Charon walked up the stairs and unloaded his stuff onto his bed. He reemerged and stepped up to Jack's door. Amazingly, he thought it was the first time he had ever woken her. She slept late if she could, but she always seemed to roll out of her room about five minutes before Charon would have dared rouse her. For a moment, he did not want to knock on the door.

He raised his hand. _Tak, tak, tak, tak._

For several seconds, he heard nothing in answer. And then, he heard the dog whine. A thump and groan filtered through the door. A moment later, the lock clicked, the door swung back, and Dogmeat slipped through the door and bounded the stairs, barking happily. A flossy fuzzball poked through the door. Her eyes were dull and bleary. It did not seem as if she saw him, but a blur of color that had no face.

"_Whm._" She mumbled.

"Forgive me for disturbing you, but the Brotherhood of Steel is at the door and wants to have a word with you."

Her face did not change immediately. Her sleep faded from her face, the fuzziness drained from it. When she spoke, her voice was still thick with sleep, but the tone was alert and not very happy.

"Two minutes. Invite them in. Do not give them a fucking thing." The door clicked softly closed before he could reply. He turned and trudged down the stairs to the door.

Opening the door had the same effect on the kid the second time as it did the first. He seemed to jump into himself again.

"Come in. You can sit but touch anything."

The kid came in cautiously. He looked almost comically. The vision of a young boy entering the Yao GUI cave on a dare. His eyes scanned above and below as his feet whispered in, strangely soft despite his bulky armor. In the light of the house, that armor looked much too big sitting atop his slight frame. Again Charon pictured a small boy, not trespassing in a place of dead danger, but clunking around in his father leathers and boots. The Steel sat in the chair and placed his hands on his lap and the image was complete. Charon stood there, watching the kid. The kid looked about him in an almost guilty looking awe. For lack of nothing better to do than stare at the star struck little bastard, Charon went into the kitchen to cook breakfast.

* * *

What had began as two minutes became twenty. The smell of fried Brahmin steak, Mirelurk eggs on the boil, and coffee heating in an aluminum tin filled the house. Charon grabbed a cold beer from the fridge. He looked at the crude blueprints on the small table Jack had insisted be in the kitchen corner.

_If we eat together, we eat at the table. It feels better. _

The schematics were for the new purifier. It looked pretty simple. In his human life, those short twenty seven years, he had studied as many books as weapons. Schematics had particularly delighted him. He could probably pick up the pencils and draw out a damn near perfect blueprint if he wanted too. The one on the table gave him a good grasp on the amount of work involved. It would be a project that would last long into the cool season. He turned his head up toward the main room. The kid still sat with his hands in his lap. And he was staring holes in the wall between himself and the stove. Charon looked back to the sizzling meat. It occurred to him the kid could be very close to starving. But he was under orders.

"Hmm." He pondered. A clanking whir answered his problem. The robot whirled into the kitchen.

"That breakfast is done. Serve it out. And coffee for your Mistress. With cream and sugar."

It gave him a nasty shock when he suddenly realized it had been nearly two hundred years since he had said the words _cream and sugar._ He shook it away.

The robot gathered plates and clanked cups. Charon continued to read the blueprints.

A crack announced the door of Jack's room closing. She thudded down the stairs. The kid in the Steel armor stood and opened his mouth to speak.

Jack waved a hand in front of her face.

"Stow it, dude. I want coffee and food. I'll talk to you when I'm damn ready." For a heartbeat of a second, she paused and looked him up and down once. "You under a time limit?"

"Three weeks, ma'am."

"I'm, like, your age, man. Call me Jack."

The robot whirred in front of the kid and chirped at Jack,

"Good morning, madam! Your breakfast is set on the counter with coffee."

She turned her head toward the kitchen, the first true interest lighting in her eyes like a pilot light. She looked back to the kid and gave a twist of her lips. He was tearing into a plate only stopping to slug down a few pulls of his sweaty-cold beer. She shook her head gently and continued off into the kitchen. Charon was sitting at the table with his plate in front of him, a new beer, and the blueprints in his hands. He watched her over them. She looked at him before she sat and lift a single brow.

"The robot."

She looked toward the kid again, who was now shoveling jelly-like blobs of eggs into his mouth. Her brow line softened a bit around the edges. She looked down to her plate.

"You know, in the morning, I don't really listen to what I say, so if you see a better judgment than mine, feel free, ya know?" she cocked her head slightly up and looked at him through her one eye. "At least until I've had my cigarette." She looked back to her plate and began to eat. After a few minutes of quiet chewing she looked up at him and smiled.

"This is great, Charon. Thank you."

* * *

They sat in the main room, Charon and Jack smoking and gathering their daily assortment of pack filler. Jack was looking at Grouper, her eyes as hard as rivets.

"What does Lyons want?"

"Elder Lyons has sent me to plead with you to come to the Citadel. He says they are desperate. The Enclave's attacks on the Brotherhood are getting harder and closer together. It will not be long until we do not have the resources to get the purifier back. The scientists need the G.E.C.K. Dr. Li said-"

"I don't give a _shit _what that bitch has to say."

Grouper was silent. Jack gave him a level stare for a near full minute.

"You under orders to tell me what she wants?"

"Yes, m-uh, yes."

"Out with it then."

"If the purifier isn't engaged soon, the cooling system will degrade too badly to ever work again."

"I got news for that bitch. The cooling system is already fucked. Even if the purifier works, it will damn near lethal after year. Year and a half at the most. Long enough to clean out the bay, maybe. Maybe even parts of the river, if it magically holds together for two years. But, it's gonna blow, one way or another. It wasn't ready when my-, when the Enclave took it. It still needed weeks of repair. Hell, the absorbing rods aren't even in place. It's gonna put as much radiation into the rotunda as it takes out of the water. Do you understand that?" her voice finally raised an octave. She was beginning to frustrate herself as she often did when left to talk out a sticky problem.

Charon looked up from his pack. He watched her face. It was twist of frustration and desperation. Grouper began again and Charon decided he was tired of the kid, no matter how young and soft headed he was.

"Elder Lyons has decided you deserve an incentive. I have a pack Brahmin loaded with supplies. He hopes this will urge to finish this task quickly. He says it would be a shame to lose your father's work. He hopes you understand that the Brotherhood is waiting and-" he stopped and Charon heard a click, saw the look on his face, and knew before he turned to Jack that she had pulled her Kneecapper on him.

Jack face was blazing white. Her eyes stood open popping out like a swollen mushroom. Her mouth was a hard line, no more than a fissure in the bedrock of her face. Charon heard Grouper stumble to his feet, his armor rattling loosely in his haste.

"Wrong thing to say, maggot. It doesn't sound like Lyons is even _asking._ It sounds like an order to me. Get the fuck out of my house. Tell you masters that if I decide to do this, they are never to show their goddamned faces in Megaton again. Anything in power armor that comes within 300 yards of my town will lose its fucking head. Got that?"

Grouper gave a choked gasp and nodded quickly. His throat was now clicking like a Geiger counter.

"Well? Get the fuck out! And leave the Brahmin. The _whole _Brahmin. Get the fuck out of my town."

Grouper was gone before Charon had torn his eyes from Jack. She was still pointing her sawed off at the wall. Her eye was still huge. He spoke softly.

"Mistress?"

She lowered her gun and then her head. When she looked up at him, he saw nothing but a grim defeat.

"I need you to get those imbeciles trained in the next few days. Give them a routine. Give Billy the list of parts we still need. Grab all the shit that fucker brought and leave it him. I want to sort through it before we leave. I need to go think. I'll be back before dark."

She stood and in a few deft movements and a few quicker steps, she was out the door with her equipment. He stared at the door.

_Before we leave for what, Jack?_ he thought.


End file.
